


Da Mi Basia Mille

by PNGuin



Series: Dux Bellorum One-Shots [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Loves Magnus Bane, Established Relationship, Insecure Magnus Bane, M/M, Magnus Bane Loves Alec Lightwood, Perceptive Alec Lightwood, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 13:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PNGuin/pseuds/PNGuin
Summary: Magnus keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.





	Da Mi Basia Mille

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of an angsty one, but with a happy ending. Something short and sweet.
> 
> A lot of people were asking for my take on Magnus and Alec's first "I love you" in the context of my other fic, Noli Me Tangere. This isn't quite that, but it's what came to mind.
> 
> Title comes from an ancient Roman poem by Catullus and translates to "give me a thousand kisses."

Alexander first says those coveted three little words right after Valentine invades the Institute, activates the Soul Sword, and wipes out several handfuls of downworlders all in one fell swoop. His tone is breathless, desperate, tragic in a way that shows he’s been frantically searching for Magnus all night; there are tear tracks on his cheeks, his eyes are red, his hair a mess from where he’s been threading his fingers through it. He’s beautiful, and he breathes out the words as if he’s a drowning man with his first lungful of fresh air.

Magnus says it back, just as quiet and desperate. How could he not? He means them, and he knows that Alec means them as well, at least in that minute. It’s a fragile moment, a single sliver of peace amongst the storm of their lives, but Magnus clings to it with everything he has.

It isn’t as if Magnus doesn’t believe Alexander. He _does_. Or, at least, he believes that Alec believes in his words. Words said out of fear and hope, words said in the heat of the moment, words that are – perhaps – a bit of an overstatement. He doesn’t say any of the things he is thinking, cannot even attempt to do so in light of his angel’s heartbreakingly earnest gaze. Those hazel eyes will be his undoing, especially as they shine with a tenderness reserved only for _him_.

Things are a mess after that, and they don’t get to spend the night together. There are dead bodies to collect and sort, littered throughout the Institute. Aldertree is deposed and Alec (once again) has to step in to triage all of the damage. Magnus has to soothe rattled nerves throughout the downworld. They are forced to part with a single hastened kiss. Alec’s touch and gaze linger longer than usual; Magnus savors it.

And that’s it, he thinks. They’ve been leading up to such a point for a while now. Magnus has been thinking those wonderful three little words for several months, letting them settle heavy over his heart even as he always bit them back. Too soon, always too soon. And he’s seen them gather in that soft, achingly tender gaze of Alec’s, reflected in every single action he’s done for Magnus. It’s enough, to feel those words as a living thing between them; a persistent light that thaws out his heart and beats back the shadows.

Just as all his other relationships, he expects those coveted words to melt back into the quiet agreement between them. They both know the truth, and they do not need a simple repetitive sentiment just to reassure themselves. Their relationship is strong enough to weather anything, even continued silence. And Magnus is okay with that; just seeing Alexander is enough to warm him to his very core. He doesn’t need the words.

But, as in all other things, his Alexander surprises him.

It’s as if that first incident opens up floodgates. Where Magnus fully expects Alexander to retreat back into the silent affirmation of their relationship, Alec dives headfirst into verbally espousing their love. The shadowhunter, once so quiet and hesitant and unsure of his own existence, is resolute in his refusal to beat back his own emotions. He is proud and certain and steady in the face of the world. Always standing against the flow of hundreds of years of tradition with an ease that rattles Magnus to his very core. Quiet against adversity, but no less steadfast in his rebellion.

He says the words _all of the time_. He says them in greeting, when he offers Magnus his customary hello hug and kiss; he says them in farewell, when they are grudgingly forced to part. He murmurs them into Magnus’ skin when they are laying in bed on their sparingly few lazy mornings, and he laughs them aloud when he’s had a few too many drinks and his eyes are watery from the alcohol. He sends them over text and leaves them in charming handwritten sticky notes. He says them as the very last thing before they go to bed, and as the very first thing when they wake up. He sings them when he is happy, and whispers them when he is sad, and even yells them when he is angry.

And Magnus…doesn’t know what to do with that. He says the words back, every single time. It’s expected, and he means them, and he needs Alec to _know_ that he means them. But each repetition of those marvelous words makes him wonder. Will the words not one day become inadequate? Will they not become commonplace and meager, after being used so often? How long can they truly retain any sense of meaning, if they are repeated every single time Alec might think of them?

Magnus fears the day that they will no longer hold any value, that they will simply be words, coughed out by mere obligation and not because Alexander is suffused with love. Every relationship up until this point in his life has taught him one lesson: love is scarce, so say it only sparingly. It’s a cruel lesson that he has been reminded of, time and again. Love has a limit set upon it; at some terminable point, surely they will run out. And then where will Magnus be left? Alone, again, forever without his Alexander.

But Alexander, his darling angel, has never learned such a lesson. He is foolhardy and confident in his youth, even when the very foundation of their relationship trembles under the weight of their feelings. Magnus can feel the quaking, can fear the inevitable crumble that will spell their doom, can already taste the salt-heavy tang of blood and tears upon his own tongue. Each blind proclamation of love inspires such a response. Alec doesn’t taste it.

He plays along, unwilling to bring up the matter and shatter what little peace they have. Magnus can never quite find it within himself to tell Alexander, to break that fragile trust and awe that Alec still foolishly has in the world. Perhaps it isn’t even his place to do so. So he stays quiet on the matter, and he parrots back the words as expected, and he cherishes each repetition of Alexander’s feelings, even as they further drain the finite span that love can travel.

It’s enough, he tells himself. Again and again. When he holds Alexander and lets the words sink into his very soul, when he drags out the responding answer that lives deep in his heart of hearts, when the feeling of their love washes over every fiber of his jaded existence. It’s enough, even as he feels the ever-encroaching drag of inevitability. It’s enough, even as it all hurts. Alexander loves him more, loves him _better_ than anything he has dared to long for. And Magnus loves Alexander with everything he can possibly offer, with a visceral desperation that he knows will leave him hollow once they run out of time.

He gathers up each heartbreaking repetition of those words and he commits them to memory. Stores them away, locked deep within his heart. Saves them for all the rainy days that promise to follow the end. He cherishes each one equally; the drunken shouts are coveted just as readily as the sleepy whispers. He clings to them, an old miserly dragon guarding the very richest gems of its horde. He lives for them, breathes them in as greedily as air, and each time it doesn’t erode away his love for Alexander but rather kindles it, so that it burns brighter every day. And, even so, he feels each one as another dropping grain of sand in their very own hourglass.

Camille used to hate saying the words. She would scoff at them, would ridicule them, would make him loathe every single use of them. To her, their love had always been a finite thing. It had only lasted the decades it had because they had said those words so sparingly. So now, with Alec insisting upon saying them so often, Magnus cannot help but feel as if their love will burn hot and quick, a candle dripping away at both ends. Eventually, those flames of passion will meet in the middle, and there will be nothing left for fuel.

Alexander, of course, _notices_.

The shadowhunter, for all his own emotional repression, never ceases to amaze Magnus in his apparent talent for self-awareness and comprehension of others’ emotions. He has the truly unfortunate propensity to notice everything that Magnus so futilely attempts to hide. Alec notices when Magnus flinches from the words, when he hesitates to say them back, when the words come out choked and decrepit, even if their meaning is as true as can be.

He stays quiet, at first. Alec leaves him to mope and stew, he lets the warlock mourn an inevitability that he cannot even fathom, he allows Magnus to hide away and tend to his imagined wounds. For a time, Alexander lets things continue as Magnus wants them to; Magnus isn’t quite sure if it’s due to compassion or fear. Perhaps it does not matter which.

But, eventually, inevitably, undeniably Magnus slips up.

They’re in the kitchen, standing beside each other and chopping vegetables. Music is playing in the living room, drifting in the air around them, and everything smells like the hearty stew that they’re currently making. Alec is wearing a stretched out hoodie that might be older than Magnus, and Magnus has somehow gotten slivers of celery in his hair. They’re laughing, leaning on each other just to stay upright, and Alexander presses featherlight kisses against his temple and forehead. It’s all so horribly domestic and Magnus is _certain_ that he wants little moments like this for the rest of eternity.

When his darling looks at him, hazel eyes positively swimming with love and affection and tenderness, and breathes out those treasured words, Magnus _panics_.

 _‘I love you, too,’_ he’s supposed to say, laughing it into the minimal space that exists between his and Alec’s lips. Instead, what comes out is a surprisingly vehement _‘you don’t have to say it all the time.’_

He immediately purses his lips, wishing desperately that he could suck the words back in. He turns away, attempting to focus back on the vegetables he’s been chopping, even as his eyes _burn_ with unshed tears and he chokes back a sob because that isn’t something he’s supposed to say. He isn’t supposed to _mention_ it. Because now Alec will realize his own blunder, and he’ll stop saying such sweet things all the time, and Magnus will never hear those precious little words again. He’s spent too long wanting too much; his greed is his own undoing.

Alec sets his own chopping board and knife off to the side, turning the entirety of his quakingly intense gaze on Magnus, and the warlock feels himself shaking in his boots. This isn’t a conversation he’s been looking forward to having. In fact, he’s been feeling the exact _opposite_ about it; he’s been dreading this eventuality with every fiber of his being. But he’s the one that has ruined things, and he’s the one that must suck it up and deal with the consequences of his mistake.

“Magnus,” Alexander calls, and he’s completely helpless to avoid that draw of his voice, even if he’s biting back his own tears. When the younger man sees the shimmering evidence of Magnus’ own shame, he wraps those wonderfully strong arms around him and pulls him close; Magnus falls into his embrace all too willingly. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” the shadowhunter murmurs. “You aren’t even chopping onions,” he attempts to joke, dragging a reluctant, watery chuckle out of the warlock.

“I’m sorry,” he tries to backtrack, wiggling out of Alec’s hold and returning to his own cutting board. “I didn’t mean to say that. I love you, too, darling.” The words come out on autopilot, but he means them. _Gods above_ , does he mean them. Always, forever, all eternity, he will mean them. But they taste like ash on his tongue and all he can think about is the ever-encroaching end of that finite space, all he can think about is that spiteful little sneer on Camille’s lips.

“Hey, stop that,” his stubborn nephilim insists, resting calloused fingers on Magnus’ wrist and slowly pushing his chopping knife back down. “We need to talk about this, and I think I would feel better if you put that knife away.”

And he isn’t accusing, doesn’t even seem particularly _upset_ , aside from some concern that lingers in his beautiful eyes and furrows his brow. Magnus doesn’t even know how he can _do_ that, how the endearing man can possibly hear Magnus snap out such waspish replies and _not_ grow unbearably furious with him. What had he ever done to deserve such things?

But he can still deflect. He can still salvage the situation. He plasters on his best smile and makes sure to flash it in Alec’s direction. It does absolutely nothing to crack the adamant frown marring his darling’s features, and Magnus feels the failure like a blow to his heart.

Alec huffs out a sigh, heavy and aggrieved and tragic in a way that Magnus thinks mourns something lost between them. But then those calloused archer hands are framing his cheeks, and Alexander is resting their foreheads together, and he’s melting against Magnus until he’s quite certain that the very atoms of their existence bleed together.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Magnus,” Alexander breathes out. “I don’t know why you think the way you do, or who hurt you to make you think that, or how to make you realize that you’re _wrong_.”

He is so adamant, so confident, that it shakes the very foundation of everything Magnus has learned about love. Magnus doesn’t know how to argue, doesn’t know how to articulate all of the cruel lessons the world has forced upon him.

“I don’t say I love you just to hear you say it back,” Alec continues, resolute and sure even in the face of Magnus’ failing faith. “And I don’t say it every single time I think it; if I did, it’s all I would ever have time to say,” he admits. “I tell you because you deserve to hear it, because I want you to know how I feel, because there’s so much of it inside of me that I have to let some of it out.”

The tears are leaking out now, spilling past Magnus’ eyes and tracking down his cheeks. They’ve been together for over a year and he still doesn’t have the faintest idea how Alec can make pouring his heart out seem so effortless. It burns, and Magnus doesn’t think he’s capable of returning that love, not like it deserves. He doesn’t know how. Not after Camille and the slew of relationships that defined him.

“I love you,” he chokes out, strangled by the overflowing strength of the words that force themselves up his throat. “So much. More than I ever thought was possible. More than I know what to do with. _I_ _love you_ , Alexander. But I just…I feel like a part of me keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the honeymoon phase to end, and for the love to dry up, and for…”

“For me to quit saying it?” Alec guesses, the bluntness driving all the air out of Magnus’ lungs. He gives a weak little nod, even as it pains him to admit it. “Never,” the shadowhunter decides. “I’m never going to stop saying it. Not even when my heart stops beating. I’ll write you letters, and sonnets, and songs. So you can reread them, over and over, and know that I’m saying it even then.”

He’s sobbing now, heaving gasps for breath that stutter out. He can’t get enough air, can hardly see straight for how much he adores this man. For how much he _loves_ him, for now until the end of time itself.

“Love is not finite,” Alexander says, simple and absolute in all the ways that Magnus has never understood.

Perhaps Magnus is not the one who learned everything. Perhaps the world has lied to him. Perhaps he was never supposed to be the one to teach Alec all the harsh lessons of life. Perhaps it was always supposed to be _Alec_ reteaching _him_. Perhaps he has lived his entire life in an illusion, a deceit perpetuated by all the false love he’s been shown. Perhaps it is finally time for him to unlearn all the falsehoods of the world, and finally allow himself to see life as Alexander does.

“I love you,” his angel repeats. Not for the first time. Not for the last.

“And I love you,” Magnus responds.

They’ll repeat it tomorrow, and the day after, and the year following that. They’ll say it when they share their vows, when they’re sleep deprived over crying babies, when they’re finally sitting back in retirement on the shores of some tropical island. They’ll say it on their anniversaries, five years, ten years, one hundred years, five hundred years. As long as the world will give them.

Their love is infinite. And that’s not a lesson Magnus ever expected to learn.

**Author's Note:**

> (Immortal husbands is the ONLY future that I am willing to accept and nothing will ever change my mind on that.)
> 
> Magnus has had a slew of terrible relationships and our boy deserves nothing but the world, and Alec is there to give him just that.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this little edition! Please leave me some kudos and comments!
> 
> ~PNGuin


End file.
